Page 68 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“That he’s lived a lie with a woman who loves him while building another life with someone who he has to keep secret. I pity them both. But not Graham. He can burn as far as I’m concerned.”

“And then what?” I ask flatly, guilt tightening my chest.

In a cool voice she asks, “What do you mean?”

“After Avery cleans him out. After he takes his stand in Congress…then is he off the hook?”

She shrugs.

“Marianne…”

“I’ll let you know.”

Where have I heard that before?“Speaking of letting me know…have you thought about Palm Beach?”

She blinks rapidly. Momentarily flustered, she makes a frantic gesture at her phone. “I’ve been a little pre-occupied.”

“I see.” I push her phone toward her and lean back in my seat. “You know where to find me when you decide.”

“Um… Yes. Again, thank you for your patience. I know I’m not the easiest?—”

“Please,” I whisper, unable to meet her eyes any longer. “Just stop.”

She clears her throat softly. I hear the telltale sniff that means she’s working up a production for me. Tears. Regrets. Rationalizations. I don’t want to hear them today the way I was gluttonous for them yesterday. I’m not in the mood to suffer.

Her voice is shaky when she changes the subject to ask about my day.

“It’s been an easy morning,” I lie.

“And Christian? Is he working out well so far?”

“He’s a fast learner. Very focused.” I say the words quickly in the hopes that my brain won’t try to extrapolate some new meaning from them and make me sound like a fumbling mess. There’s nothing I could say about Christian’s professional qualities that my mind wouldn’t be able to turn to filth in a heartbeat.

“A good choice then?”

“I’d prefer to have him full-time—”And here I go again, “but maybe he’ll come around.”

“Are you free for lunch?” she asks, which is the ultimate bone throw.

“No, I have a call,” I lie again.

“All right.” She stands and walks around the desk. I accept the feather-light kiss on the cheek she offers.

Our marriage: the death by a thousand cuts.

My death of course. She’s perfectly fine.

“Have a nice afternoon. You’ll see Graham tomorrow, then?”

“I’ll reach out.”

“Soon, though, yes?”

“Yes, love. Soon.”

She gives my shoulder a soft touch as she walks away. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to it.”

Once she’s gone, I launch myself from the chair to lie down on the couch, burying my face in one of the soft throw pillows. Crying isn’t my style, but wallowing is. There’s a burn in mychest and a pit in my stomach. One from my dumpster fire of a heart, and the other at the prospect of confronting Senator Graham Lawther with his own ruin.

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